[Brackets] (6 page)

“Cole, you’re the only man I know who would consider this a bad thing,” she said.

They walked up to the building together. The curved facade of the Player Pier was a gaudy tribute to every sport imaginable. It was built to look like a stadium, with embedded pieces of green turf, leather, netting, and other sports paraphernalia surrounding the belt of stadium lights that marched around the entire building. But the outside was understated compared to the interior. Huge, cinema-sized screens filled the walls surrounding a phalanx of sofas, tables
,
and high seats. A small stage and microphone had been set up directly in front of one of the screens. What appeared to be the entire staff of WHAR,
their
family members, and half the city of Hartford were watching the game between Oklahoma and West Virginia. West Virginia was up by seven at ten minutes into the first half. Cole tried to remember if he had WVU winning. Nera would know.

They stopped by the bar, then found the least noisy corner of the upper level and sat down close to each other, Nera facing the big screens.

“So Cole, I have to ask you,” Nera started. “Why are you not thrilled about your bracket? This really is a big deal! I heard this story a few years back about an MIT physicist who thought that he’d found some algorithm for predicting March Madness winners, and his system only got like 60% of them right. He said the stock market was easier to predict than this. I know you’re not into sports, but what you’re doing is seriously cool!”

Cole stirred his drink and fidgeted under Nera’s unblinking gaze.

“I guess…it’s because it shouldn’t really be me, you know? Smart people who know a lot about sports—people like you—you should be the ones making the perfect picks. I just feel like people are going to find out I’m a fake any minute.”

Nera laughed and shook her head as she took a drink. “Cole, you aren’t a fake. You can’t fake luck. I mean, there you are, a secretary at a tiny real estate agency, typing all day…”

“I know,” Cole interrupted, hiding a smile, “it’s amazing that someone so, um…”

“Oh I didn’t mean—I don’t think you have a loser job or anything.”

“No, I’m just messing with you. Seriously. And actually, it is kind of a loser job, but less of a loser job than I’ve had in the past.”

“OK, then,” she smiled. “So what were the worse jobs?”

“Oh, night clerk, janitor for dentist offices, data entry, cashier. My favorite was cleaning the ball pit at Chuck-E-Cheese right after I got out of my body cast. I’ve actually been at this job for longer than anything else. It has its perks.” Cole couldn’t keep himself from loo
king up at Nera as he finished.
“But what about you? I know you can do more than just drive rich people around to big houses.”

“Ha! No, Anne Marie keeps the rich ones to herself. You’re
right though—I actually got a m
aster
’
s in sports psychology
at UCONN
, did you know that? I was doing an internship with the women’s basketball team and things were looking really good, but…”

Nera’s voice faded, and she seemed overly interested in the Oklahoma coach calling a time-out. Cole just waited.

“So my mom has cancer. Pancreatic, so things aren’t looking good. Only Anne Marie knows about it at the office, I don’t really want Tom blogging about it. Anyway, Anne Marie knew my mom from way back, so she suggested that I get my real estate license and stay close to home. Anne Marie’s been good to me, even if she is, you know, Anne Marie. And getting someone to buy a house isn’t that different from getting a player to get back on the court.”

Nera went back to watching the Oklahoma coach bawling out one of his players. “That guy needs to keep his cool,” she said. Cole waited a little more, then reached ove
r and put his hand over Nera’s. They
passed the rest of the game that way. With just five minutes left in the second half, they felt, then saw, the presence of a camera coming around to their side. And where there was a camera, there was Deborah Cheney.

“Hi, you two. Having fun?” she asked, putting her hands on their shoulders like a diplomat.

“Yeah,” they said at the same time.

“Well, it’s about to get even better. We’ll be seeing more of you at the end of this game.” She walked away with a sly grin to interview others in the crowd.

“What happens at the end of the game?” Cole asked Nera.

“I don’t know. Maybe they’ll give you something for winning.”

“What if I don’t win?”

“You will. Oklahoma is falling to pieces, and I think the last game will be more lopsided than people think. Besides, you’re riding the luckiest wave I’ve ever seen. It would be almost unnatural for you to not win.”

“Every streak has to end.”

“Says who?”

“I don’t know. Statistics guys.
Me.
It’s like
…
so
when I was in high school, my senior year, I was dating this girl, my
s
kateboarding was going awesome—I was going to compete in an X games qualif
ier the week before I graduated. E
verything was good, and then my accident happened. I
was laid up
for
eight
weeks
,
a
nd then it took me another two months just to get right again
. I missed the games, my girlfriend dumped me
because she got bored
, I missed my
prom and my graduation.
My point is, l
uck changes, fast, like that.” H
e snapped his fingers.

“Was that your point?” Nera raised her eyebrows. “I thought your point was that if a streak of bad luck can last four months, a streak of good luck could at least last one.”

Cole was about to retort when the
final
game buzzer
blared
and the sound to the television feed was shut off.

“My friends and co-workers!” Deborah Cheney began, now on the stage behind the microphone. “Are you having a good time tonight?” The crowd cheered that they were. “We’d like to thank Player Pier for hosting this party,” applause, “and our wonderful executives and staff f
or putting this together for us.
”
S
he joined in with
more applause.

“We have five minutes before the final game of the evening begins, and I want to make a very special announcement.” Cole
noticed one of the cameras turning toward him. “As you know, I’ve been paying close attention to a certain South Windsor resident in my broadcasts this past week. This young man had a perfect bracket going into the Elite Eight. I can now tell you that if UCLA wins this next game, he will have a perfect bracket going into the Final Four. Cole Kaman, stand up and let us see you!”

Cole stood and gave a tight-mouthed wave. He s
tayed
up long enough for everyone in the bar to turn around and notice him, and then he made a move to sink back in his previously anonymous seat.

“Wait, wait, Cole, stay standing a moment, because I have an extra special announcement. It turns out that Cole is not the only one to make it this far with a perfect record. Our colleagues at ESPN are telling us that there are three more people on their website who have also registered perfect brackets. And wait, wait, here’s the amazing part. Cole, each of these contestants has the exact same Final Four teams that you do.” She paused, knowing that she had everyone’s rapt attention now. “But, each has a different team winning the tournament! Four people. Four brackets. Only one possible winner. Ladies and gentleman, the intriguing and improbable race for bracket perfection is on! Put that bracket up on the big screen!”

A dynamically animated version of Cole’s picks went up, with each of the correct choices lighting up in exploding bright green. The crowd reacted in direct proportion to their individual drunkenness before Deborah put up her hands again.

“I know, I know, it’s amazing. But now I have an even
more
special announcement.” Cole wondered how many special announcements there could be in a row before they weren’t special anymore. “ESPN awards a cash prize of one million dollars
to
who
m
ever wins that year’s bracket challenge, which Cole did not sign up for. But…” she continued, “the CBS higher-ups have agreed to officially sponsor Cole and award him the same cash prize should he be the final winner!
And
,” she added, talking over the tide of voices and applause, “all four bracket holders will be flown out to Washington DC with a guest of their choosing to watch the Final Four in person!”

The camera found Cole’s face again; it found his eyes opened very wide.

“Now, I don’t care if you’re a Hawaii fan or not. Let’s cheer for this UCLA team, and let’s send Cole Kaman to the Final Four!” Deborah applauded with everyone else in Cole’s direction, then signaled for the screen to go back to the game. It meant just a little bit more to everyone there to see that UCLA had already gone up by six.

Nera watched as a few inebriated station members began making their way back toward their table. “C’mon,” she said, grabbing his arm. “You need some air.”

The Player Pier boasted a large deck overlooking one of the
walking
trails that paralleled the river. Cru
sts of snow capped the railings; t
he cold
would give
Cole and Nera some much-
needed seclusion for as long as they could endure it. They leaned against the raili
ng, looking out over the river to
the sparkling constellation of streetlamps and windows that disappeared into the clusters of barren trees.

“So, wow!” said Nera. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, if you make it to the championship game, they play it on a Monday night. Anne Marie will probably give you paid leave as long
as
you wear a Cheney t-shirt.”

Cole chuckled. They looked around in silence, watching their breath evaporate in white wisps.

“So how do you really feel about all this?” she asked sincerely.

Cole shook his head and laughed to himself. “Like I’m on a game show, one of those where they have some crazy thing that they have to do, but they keep adding things to make it harder, like, ‘OK, you have to run from here to there carrying this egg in your mouth, but you’ll have to cross this pit of cockroaches barefoot! And you’ll be blindfolded! With a boa constrictor!’”

“Is that a real show?”

“I don’t know. I’m saying that it feels like stuff keeps piling up for no reason. And the weirdest part of
it
all is, I don’t have to do anything, and this will still go on. I could lock myself in my apartment, I could leave the country, and people will still get excited about this piece of paper that I filled out. And now there are three others with the same luck as me, and our pieces of paper are
competing with each other for a million dollars. How did that happen?” Cole raised and dropped his shoulders
with
a deep breath. “But maybe it’s just tonight. Maybe in a week people will calm down and they’ll see all this for what it really is, and life will start being normal again.”

“Maybe,
” Nera said thoughtfully. “But people like to believe that special things can happen. Like, not everybody can play college basketball, but everyone can fill out a bracket and maybe get it perfect one year. To see someone actually do it is fun; it gives people hope and excitement. The fact that there are four of you and four teams—that just adds mystery. It’s good for people to see that improbable things can happen.”

“Is it?” Cole asked, looking over at her.

“It’s good for me,” she conceded. “It’s good for my mom. Why shouldn’t it be good for you, too?” Cole shrugged his shoulders again and stared out at the river. A nice thought occurred to him.

“She did say that I could go with a guest, right?”

What could have been a truly romantic moment was ruined by Deborah Cheney.

“There you are, you two!” she called as she walked over. “We’ve been looking everywhere. There is
so
much to plan before next Saturday. We’d li
ke to do another interview, one-on-
one, for the Monday opening, and I think it might be nice to bring a crew over to your apartment for some human interest. I’ve already talked to Anne Marie about doing another on-site at the office, maybe interviewing some co-workers who’ve been in on it from the beginning. She mentioned there was a man with a blog?”

Nera glanced over to see Cole stiffening up.

“Uh, Deborah, would it be possible…”

“Oh
yes
, and you’re the girlfriend, right? This is just perfect. So, I imagine that you’ll be going to DC…”

Out of nowhere, a quick whooshing shot past Cole’s left ear. Immediately, Deborah Cheney yelped in pain, reaching for her right shoulder as she fell back. Something shiny and hard had hit her square in the collar bone.